


Requisitions

by Kari_Kurofai



Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Collars, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24334621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kari_Kurofai/pseuds/Kari_Kurofai
Summary: “Come here.”Bohn scoots closer without even thinking about it, an excited shiver working its way through his veins as it starts to sink in what exactly is happening. The chain is cool against the back of his neck, the ring and the moon charm even cooler as Duen settles them over the hollow of his throat. The snap of the metal hinging back into its proper place is quiet, but it still sets a tremble rippling up Bohn’s body. He hooks a finger through the ring as soon as Duen allows him to, lifts the moon away from his body and tests the tight cord of the chain links that leave more than enough room to breathe, but certainly won’t fit over his head. “It’s locked,” he says, all breathless wonder, his heart hammering wildly in his chest.
Relationships: Bohn/Duen (My Engineer)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 200
Collections: T/CBL





	Requisitions

**Author's Note:**

> Important note that Duen means moon. 
> 
> Anywho, in light of that mean episode 13 I have a gift for you all to soothe you. It's a fucking collar fic! Hooray! I smashed all 7k out in less than 24 hours! This one actually came about because Hansolace finished Unmistakably, Forever Inspirationally Mine, and expressed mild disappointment that Bohn didn't get one as his gift at the end. To which I said, "I will make it happen," and immediately opened etsy to search for the perfect one for him. I may have screamed when I found this one because MOON CHARM
> 
> https://www.etsy.com/listing/748113072/submissive-necklace-locking-option-ddlg
> 
> Anyways have fun. Everything will be fine, they end up together in the book. Also we literally have footage of them making up in the opening theme. Shhhhhh. Let me soothe you with fanfic this week.

“I have something for you.”

Bohn blinks open his eyes where he’s been laying on his back and letting Duen trace lazy shapes across his stomach. His skin is still a little too overheated, tingling with that dull, post coital thrum, but he can’t help the smirk that curls up in the corner of his mouth. “Again?”

“ _No,_ ” Duen chides immediately, and Bohn tilts his head to the side to watch the way his eyebrows furrow a little in consideration as soon as he says it. “Maybe,” he amends. Bohn bites his lip to hold back a snicker. He must not do a very good job of it though because Duen pinches the skin above his navel in affectionate reprimand. “Stop that, or you’ll get nothing.”

“Alright, alright,” Bohn concedes. His arms stretch over his head and his back pops a little as he reclines further into the mattress. He arches an eyebrow when he catches Duen looking, but says nothing lest he be further deprived of whatever is in store. “What is it?”

Duen hums a low, thoughtful note, and leans over the side of the bed to dig around in the backpack he’d discarded there pretty much as soon as they’d stumbled back after classes. When he sits up he has a little cardboard box in hand. There’s still a shipping label stuck to the side but the tape has been removed from the flaps, leaving it partially open. Curious, Bohn props himself up on one arm to try and peer inside, but Duen snatches it just far enough away that he doesn’t quite manage it. “You know I have a big essay due next Friday, right?” he says warily, and Bohn’s stomach drops.

“. . . Yeah.”

“So next week I’m going to be spending my lunch hours and pretty much all my spare time in the library when I’m not going to classes or sleeping,” Duen continues. 

Bohn tries not to let his dismay show on his face. It twists horribly in his chest though, makes his fingers clench in the sheets at his side, and he averts his eyes before Duen can meet them. He knows he’s being stupid, being selfish, but that doesn’t really do anything to dull his own well worn anxieties. The apartment is going to be really quiet next week, he thinks dully, and hates how bitter it sounds even inside his own head.

A hand fits over his cheek, turns his face back around until Bohn is forced to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. Duen’s gaze is fond, heart-achingly understanding, and Bohn musters up a tiny smile to match it. “It’s okay,” Duen murmurs. “I planned ahead.” He presses the little package into Bohn’s palm and leans back again, waiting. 

There’s nothing suspicious about the shipping label, and when Bohn peels back the flaps he’s met with the sight of a little plastic bag taped to a squishy foam square. He peels the bag off first and tosses the box aside so he can examine the contents in proper lighting. Inside the bag is a thin but sturdy chain with a thick ring at the center, fairly similar to a necklace he already owns. Something else is coiled up beneath the ring, obscured by a second, slightly thinner chain, and Bohn squints through the plastic at it before he gives up and pulls the whole thing out. Once he’s untangled it he’s startled to see that it’s a little crescent moon, just the right size to not quite fit through the ring it hangs from. “Duen,” he says quietly, awed, “It’s you.”

Duen laughs, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “It’s a little more than just that,” he says, and Bohn casts him a curious side-eye. “Look closer.”

Puzzled, Bohn takes the ring in one hand and the moon charm in the other. He studies the moon first, but finds nothing odd about it. Rolling the ring around in his palm, he’s befuddled as he still finds nothing, and gathers the length of the chain up in his hands until he has the bead of the clasp. He holds it up and twists it from side to side until he spots a little hole at the back. “I don’t get it.”

When he turns to look at Duen for answers he’s startled to see him already holding up a tiny, dull pin with a loop at the end. He opens a hand for the necklace, and Bohn gives it to him without a second thought, watching with bated breath as Duen pops the little pin into the hole and the clasp lets one eyelet loose from the side of it “Did you see how short the chain is?” he asks as he extends it open. Bohn nods mutely. “Come here.”

Bohn scoots closer without even thinking about it, an excited shiver working its way through his veins as it starts to sink in what exactly is happening. The chain is cool against the back of his neck, the ring and the moon charm even cooler as Duen settles them over the hollow of his throat. The snap of the metal hinging back into its proper place is quiet, but it still sets a tremble rippling up Bohn’s body. He hooks a finger through the ring as soon as Duen allows him to, lifts the moon away from his body and tests the tight cord of the chain links that leave more than enough room to breathe, but certainly won’t fit over his head. “It’s locked,” he says, all breathless wonder, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. 

“Yes,” Duen confirms. “And I’ll have the key.” He pauses. “I mean, if that’s okay . . .”

Of course it’s okay. Hell, it’s more than okay. “I love it,” Bohn whispers, not even remotely embarrassed when his voice wavers. He really, _really_ loves it. 

Duen sighs in obvious relief, and Bohn grins at him. “Good, I’m glad.” He moves closer, braces a hand on the other side of Bohn’s body so he can nuzzle up against his neck and peck a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It looks good on you,” he says, and lightning sparks hot in Bohn’s gut as he registers that familiar, low tone. 

He leans back a little, just enough to bump their foreheads together so he can take in the dark intensity that’s settled into Duen’s eyes. “Oh?” he teases. His hand that’s still fiddling with the necklace is batted aside, and Duen hooks his own finger through the ring, tugs him forward to kiss him properly. Bohn melts into it in an instant, looping his arms around Duen’s shoulders without a second thought. “I mean, it practically has your name on it,” he boasts as soon as he has the air to.

“It does,” Duen murmurs against his ear, and Bohn shivers as he drags his teeth over the lobe. “And since you can’t take it off, that means so do you.” The thrill of those words works its way through Bohn’s frame in a full body shudder, a gasp falling from his lips as Duen bites down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. The chain is caught between his teeth, is pressed into his skin alongside them, and Bohn chokes on a groan. “You’re going to be good next week for me, right?” Duen asks as he pulls back just enough to admire the mark he’s left there. A hand is trailing down Bohn’s side, fitting over his hip and pulling him closer. 

Bohn mulls the idea over in his head with his usual modicum of consideration when it comes to these things, which is none. “I might be,” he says aloud, huffing out a laugh when Duen shoves him over onto his back. He reclines as soon as he hits the mattress, tucks his hands behind his head and lets his legs drift open. Duen watches him with that same delicious intensity, dances a hand up his abdomen as he settles himself between Bohn’s legs and curls a finger into the ring of the necklace again. “What do I get in return if I am?” Bohn can’t help but goad. He practically purrs as his head is dragged up by the chain around his neck, and this time Duen’s kiss is fiercer, heated rather than teasing. 

“I _just_ gave you a gift like six seconds ago,” Duen cajoles when he breaks away to pepper kisses down over his jaw. “What more do you want?” He punctuates the sentence by releasing him again, letting Bohn fall back on the sheets in favor of dancing his fingers down over his ribs, his sides. 

Bohn watches him through half-lidded eyes as Duen draws tantalizing circles over his skin lower, lower, before his hand curls around his already hard cock. He arches up into the touch instantly, a breathy whine escaping him as Duen accompanies the motion with his other hand sliding under his back, pushing his hips up. Bohn goes willingly, he always does. Duen releases him in favor of pulling him closer, lining them up, and Bohn can’t even bring himself to be disappointed because this, _this_ is his favorite part. There’s so much to take in, so many little things to absorb and memorize. He’s always torn between the sensations of his own body and his intrinsic need to watch Duen come undone. 

The first press inside always takes his breath away, leaves him panting, especially so if it’s not the only time they’ve done it that day. He’s just a little bit sore from the last time, open and aching in all the best ways, and when Duen rolls his hips forward, pulls one of his thighs up around his waist to get a better angle, Bohn can’t help the breathy, satiated moan that tumbles from his mouth. God, he _loves this_. His chest heaves on the next inhale, his heart stuttering as he’s filled in slow, careful grinds and jerks, and he’s only satisfied once he’s sure his boyfriend is fully sheathed inside him. He watches Duen stall, takes in how he closes his eyes and steadies himself. His breaths are more even than Bohn’s, but still not without their own quiet hitches. Bohn loves how he always seems just a little bit overwhelmed in that moment, how that’s never changed from their first time till now. He hooks his ankles together behind Duen’s back, pulls him in just a little closer, a fraction deeper, and relishes in how he chokes on a groan and grips his hips hard enough to bruise. “Good?” he can’t help but ask, as amazed as he always is when the answer comes.

“Y-yeah,” Duen whispers. “Give me a second.”

Bohn nods, content to reach up and spread his fingers out over Duen’s chest in the meantime. He likes to feel the thunder of his heart under his touch, the rise and fall of his sternum as he breathes, and he focuses on that rather than the looming knowledge that it’ll be awhile before he gets to do this again. Duen moves after a moment, pulls back just long enough to make Bohn whine in protest before he cants in again. It’s agonizingly slow, even compared to how Duen usually takes him apart, but somehow it’s exactly what he needs. Bohn winds his arms under Duen’s when he leans down over him, scratches his nails down his shoulder blades when the next thrust hits just right, and buries his face in the crook of his neck. 

He’s a lot quieter than he usually is, caught up in the movement of their bodies, the feel of skin on skin, the heat and cadence of Duen’s breath against the shell of his ear. Bohn mouths at his shoulder, expresses his approval with a dig of his teeth into flesh, a muffled swear. He wants to savor this, wants to spin each second into a blazoned memory, unhurried and drawn out until every nerve in his body is flash with fire. Duen kisses the side of his face, the line of his neck, and Bohn lets himself get so distracted by it he doesn’t notice the hand inching up between them until deft fingers have found their home in the metal loop around his neck again. He gasps as he’s tugged closer, dragged down by the chain until he can’t help but grind back into the next thrust and squeeze his thighs around Duen’s waist. “ _Fuck_ ,” he pants, and he can feel Duen’s mouth curving into a satisfied smirk against the side of his neck. 

“There you go,” Duen murmurs with a kiss to the line of his jaw, apparently content with the reaction. 

Bohn leans into it, keenly aware of the hand still held between their bodies and tangled up into the chain, hot against his skin. There’s something about it that’s driving him to the edge, a perfect match to the grip of the hand on his hip. It sings with that same greedy necessity that makes him crave being spread out on the bed just like this, long for the proximity and the pleasant ache of being filled. _Possession_ , he thinks dizzily. Duen’s being _possessive_. 

It’s not exactly new for them, they’ve displayed it in other ways. Bohn has always been like this, insatiable in his need to make sure his territory is obvious, that he’s unequivocally owned. He has the hickeys to prove it, a calendar of marks on his skin that he can admire, and it’s certainly no stranger to the way they have sex either. It’s written in every movement they make, the way they fit together, cling to each other, share breaths and reassurances and praise between harsh kisses and harsher bites. He doesn’t leave quite as many signs on Duen’s skin as his boyfriend gifts upon him, but those that he does are telling all the same. There are scratches on his spine, long lines from his shoulders to the base of his ribs, and every now and then a particularly large but light bruise forms in the small of Duen’s back where Bohn digs his heels in a little too hard. He likes what these marks show off though, what they would convey if anyone else were privileged enough to see them.

They display the same thing as the moon charm that’s dragging across the hollow of his throat. Duen is satisfied, gratified, _claimed_. And so is he.

Bohn rolls his hips up into the next thrust, the one after, chasing that deep spark of pleasure a little closer to the precipice each time. Duen releases the chain when he moans in favor of drawing a thumb along his lower lip, parting them before he kisses him with a surge that leaves them both breathless. “Come on,” he urges softly against the corner of Bohn’s mouth. “I know you’re close. I want to hear you beg for it.”

 _Fuck_. Bohn is well aware of how much Duen thrives on his usual mouthiness, he’d figured it out when they were still flirting. He likes to be needed, flattered, enjoys being asked for what he’s already ready and willing to provide. His hand has found the chain again, is threading the ring around one of his fingers as he spreads his palm out over Bohn’s sternum like he’s mapping the staccato of his heart. _Possessive_ , Bohn thinks again, and he wonders suddenly who the necklace was actually for. 

“You’ve _collared_ me,” he breathes with sudden understanding, and his hips are immediately dragged up, the new angle and fervor forcing a strangled shout from his lungs. “ _Hah!_ _Fuck_ , Duen, baby, _oh my god_.”

Bohn doesn’t know how he’s meant to last a whole day on his own with that knowledge, let alone a week. He’s already dazzled with it, stunned and breathless with fresh desire despite the fact that he’s literally in the middle of getting some of the best sex of his life. Duen doesn’t even bother to answer his revelation, just clenches his fingers around the chain, the _collar,_ a little tighter. He matches it in rhythm too, fucks into him a bit harder, a tad deeper, until Bohn’s whines and whimpers are breaking on every exhale. Duen wants him to beg, but Bohn can’t find the words to, is too overwhelmed with everything else. So instead he just calls out his name, whispers it against the tense line of his boyfriend’s shoulder in new notes and endless litanies. 

“I’m so close,” he urges, encouraged when Duen’s breath stutters raggedly against his neck. “Come on, Duen. _Come on_. Baby, I’m so close, _I’m so close,_ Duen, I- _ah_!” Bohn’s back arches, his legs squeezing around Duen’s sides and his nails scrabbling at his spine as he tips over the edge. It’s almost painful how hard he comes, spots dancing in front of his vision as he paints his stomach in thick, white stripes. His throat feels raw with each uneven pant, and Duen groans out a muffled curse into his shoulder as Bohn bears down on him with every heated, tight coil of his muscles. It’s almost too much, and he’s oversensitive within seconds, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as Duen continues to use him, takes him in a half dozen hard and shallow thrusts before Bohn feels him pulse and spill deep inside. 

Duen trembles for a long few seconds, pulls away just enough to get some air between them as he heaves in one breath, another. Bohn reaches up to chart out soothing paths over his chest with his hands, counts the rise and fall of each inhale and exhale until Duen cracks open his eyes to stare down at him. His cheeks are flushed with a heady glow that spreads to the tips of his ears, and his hair is sticking to his forehead in sweat-soaked curls. Even like this Bohn finds him cute, and he slips a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss to prove it. “Beautiful,” he praises, and Duen snorts on a sound that might be a laugh if he weren’t still breathing so hard.

“You always say that stuff at the weirdest times,” he remarks after a moment.

“What?” Bohn scoffs. “I can’t call my boyfriend pretty after he fucks my brains out for the second time in a row?”

Duen lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t take the very easy and very obvious bait to retort. Bohn hisses when he pulls out, biting down on his lip to keep it from turning into a full out groan. “Stay put,” Duen orders as he slides off the bed. Bohn shoots him a dirty look for that one; as if he would go anywhere. He returns after a moment with a warm washcloth, and Bohn huffs out a sigh and rolls onto his side to let himself be pampered appropriately. “I’m shocked it took you that long to figure out it’s a collar,” Duen says after awhile, and Bohn casts him a withering side-eye over his shoulder.

“In my defense it looks nothing like a collar.”

“It has a lock and key,” Duen smiles. “What did you think it was?”

“Uh, really really cool? I don’t know. I was just . . .” Bohn trails a finger down the length of the chain, circles the inner edge of the ring and then follows it to the moon charm hanging over the top of his sternum. “I was kinda just blown away that it’s basically your name around my neck. Which in hindsight, yes, is exactly the function of a collar,” he admits. Duen presses a kiss to his cheek and gets off the bed again, returning empty handed. Bohn moves onto his back, stares up at his searching, uncertain gaze, and reaches up to thread his fingers through his hair. “I love it,” he reiterates quietly. “But I want to hear you say it if I’m going to behave myself this week.”

It’s such a stubborn, needy thing to ask for, but Bohn has always and will always be both those things. And Duen knows that all too well. He only pauses a moment before he brackets Bohn in with his arms, settles himself between his legs and moulds their bodies together to gift feather-light kisses over his neck. “What do you want me to say?” he asks between breaths, and Bohn can feel him smiling.

“You’re being cheeky now,” he complains, though there’s no heat in the words. He tilts his head to the side, gives him a better angle, and sighs in satisfaction when Duen takes the hint and sinks his teeth into the jut of his collarbone. 

Duen hums in soft agreement but still doesn’t offer the desired response right away. He sits up after a minute, grabs the comforter from the end of the bed and draws it up over them in one smooth motion. It bubbles briefly in the air as it falls over his back, cocoons them in as he braces both hands on either side of Bohn’s chest on the mattress before he says with low and unbridled ferocity, “I want other people to know _you’re mine_.”

Where Bohn’s jealousy has always been wild, unrestrained and barely bottled up even on his best days, Duen’s in contrast is quiet, reserved. He tucks his behind furrowed eyebrows, tiny frowns. But after nearly a year together neither reaction is born out of worry for the other person straying so much as outside parties not respecting boundaries. There are popped tires in their past, ugly facebook messages and handsy stalkers. While Bohn had once been concerned he wasn’t wanted, Duen’s dismay had lain in the fact that he was just one among many who did want him, and that perhaps he couldn’t measure up. “Well you’ve sealed the deal now,” Bohn teases as Duen trails his hand down over the moon charm, presses the metal into his skin until it leaves a faint outline in his flesh. “Now everyone’s gonna know.” He threads his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, frames his face with his hands, and drags him down for a kiss. “Especially me,” he adds quietly, ever aware of his own desire to be shown where he belongs, who he belongs to. “ _Especially me_.”

~~~***~~~

It’s a long fucking week. Bohn behaves himself. Mostly. He still peeks into the library every now and then, sneaks between the shelves and peers in through the big glass windows. Duen is always surrounded by books and old senior dissertations in spiral bound spines. Bohn accosts Tingting outside the medical faculty almost every afternoon and evening, hands her boxes of takeout with little notes on them, and otherwise maintains his distance. For sanity’s sake he keeps his phone on silent, stays off of Line unless he really has to to avoid the temptation. He still gets a goodnight text though, a little rose emoji in the morning, and he hides his smiles into his pillow when he reads them even though no one is around to see him. 

By Wednesday he’s developed a habit though, and he finds himself tracing the outline of the ring at the end of the chain around his neck whenever the disquiet becomes a little too much. His thumb presses into the cool metal of the moon charm during classes, in the hallways, leaves the outline of it creased into his t-shirt from how often he does it. He catches Mild looking at him once during their (thankfully) only shared class, and he bares his teeth in a malicious, cheshire smirk at him as he lifts the collar away from his neck just enough for him to see how short the chain is, and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as the other man looks swiftly away. Good. He is _taken_. He has been _claimed_.

“The campus Cute Boy Facebook page has been losing their shit over Bohn this week,” Boss remarks during lunch on Thursday. Tee pops the straw of his drink out of his mouth to lean over the table and see for himself as Boss offers him the phone. “It’s only been like four days since they’ve seen you and Duen in public together, you’d think they’d have something better to do than notice stuff like that.”

“They clearly don’t know what the fuck a day collar is,” King mutters as he flips a page in his textbook.

Bohn nearly chokes to death on his food while the rest of the table hoots with laughter. “ _Excuse me_!?”

King waves a dismissive hand in his direction, still engrossed in his studying. “We’re not idiots, dude. Also, we were all there when you tried to make Mild cry in the middle of class, I wish I had a picture of his face in that moment.”

“It was pretty good,” Tee sighs. “I was sure he was either going to burst into tears or throw up. Either would have been nice.” 

By midday Friday Bohn is just about at his limit. There’s an hour left until he knows Duen’s report is due, and he makes his way to the canteen near the engineering faculty courtyard to waste time until then, too nervous and strung out to even think about attending his last few classes. Whatever, his grades are decent. He taps his fingers on the table he esconses himself at off in the corner, deaf to the rest of the world as he scrolls mindlessly through his Instagram feed just to occupy his time. 

At one point someone approaches the table to offer him a drink and he waves them off without even looking up, curling a hand around the moon charm hanging around his neck. Would it be too pushy of him to wait outside Duen’s classroom? He fiddles with the case on his phone as he considers it, popping the corners off in antsy anticipation. It’s not like his boyfriend isn’t already planning on coming over tonight, the difference of a couple of hours won’t kill him. Probably.

Bohn thunks his head down on the table and buries his face in his arms with a frustrated exhale Maybe he should just text him and ask. But there’s still a half hour until he can do that, and every minute feels like a fresh, hellish eternity. 

A hand skims down the back of his neck, fingers curling around the chain laying against his skin, and Bohn’s soul nearly leaves his body as he scrambles to sit up. “Don’t _do that_ ,” he snaps, breathless and flustered even though he’d recognized that touch the second it made contact, had known it by that distinctive, gentle but firm pressure. Duen stares down at him with a cocky, coyly innocent smile, and Bohn huffs out a sigh and slumps into his side. “Aren’t you supposed to be turning in your report?”

Duen’s hand is wandering over the side of his neck, following the length of the chain down to the hollow of his throat where the moon sits in plain view. “I turned it in early,” he says almost absently. “Someone posted a picture of you sulking out here on Facebook, you know.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” Bohn denies. He casts his gaze around though, spots the drink he’d been offered earlier still sitting untouched on the end of the table a few feet away, and smirks. “King said those girls don’t know what a day collar is,” he says before he can stop himself. 

Duen’s fingers tighten at the base of his throat, curl into the ring and pull it away from his skin just enough to force his head up. “Yeah,” he says lowly, “I can see that.”

 _Oh_. Something hot, curious and new and not yet satiated curls in Bohn’s gut. “If you have nothing else to do right now you could make a point,” he whispers. Someone nearby has been taking pictures apparently if the aforementioned Facebook post is anything to go by. Bohn wonders with giddy delight if they still are. This is probably too public though for Duen, collar or not. Still, he can’t help but reach for the drink across the table, touching it with the tips of his fingers. Duen’s hand jerks up, pulls him back, but Bohn fights against the grip to push the cup over the edge of the table where it crashes and splatters across the floor. He’s tugged away again as soon as he does it, and he returns his gaze to where Duen’s still standing over him, his eyes wide and dark. His hand is shaking just a little where it’s fisted around the front of the ring of the collar, the chain with the moon charm dangling out between his fingers. “Oops,” Bohn deadpans.

Duen’s breath hitches audibly, and Bohn takes in the way the rise and fall of his chest stutters with it, how he casts a look to the side and narrows his eyes at something Bohn doesn’t bother to follow his line of site to see. “I should take you home,” he says quietly, his words weighted, considering, before he levels his Bohn with one of his carefully intense stares. “But you’re right. I could make a point. We’ve been dating almost a year, this is ridiculous.”

Bohn tilts his head a little, tries to parse out the cryptic thrum of distaste in those words, but before he can he finds himself stumbling to his feet as Duen pulls at the front of his collar with enough insistence that it digs the chain into the back of his neck. “This is gonna end up on Facebook,” Bohn warns as he’s made to stand toe to toe with him, the ring gripped in Duen’s fingers pulling the chain out to it’s too-short length in a more visible manner. 

“ _Good_.”

He’s not quite sure how they make it out of the canteen without accosting each other, or how Duen knows exactly which classroom in a faculty that’s not even his own is empty at this time of day, let alone that this one in particular has a lock. Hell, Bohn can’t even remember if he grabbed his bag off the floor until he sees Duen tossing it onto one of the desks by the door along with his own. His every movement is frustrated, tense, and Bohn lets him crowd him back against the wall without protest, running his hands down over his back as Duen presses hot, trembling kisses up his neck. “Hey,” he soothes. “ _Hey_. It’s okay. I literally don’t give a shit about that stuff, you know that.” He hums as he’s tugged closer, goes willingly as Duen starts rucking up the back of his engineering shirt. 

“ _I do_ ,” Duen says, and it comes out choked, a little wet, and Bohn surges into him as he registers it. “You’re _mine._ ”

Bohn wonders, faintly, if that message will get across better after that little stunt in the canteen, and then tries to decide if he cares. He certainly doesn’t give a fuck right now, not while Duen is busy biting bruisingly visible marks into his skin, is pushing his uniform off his shoulders and tugging at the hem of his t-shirt underneath. Still, he knows too well this sort of need for reassurance, this desperation, even if the way Duen shows it is starkly different from his own. “I am,” he confirms softly. And then, because he’s absolutely insatiable even when he really shouldn’t be, he whispers, “As if I’d ever spread my legs for anyone but you,” right in Duen’s ear. The response is immediate, and Bohn groans as a knee is pushed between his thighs, the hand on his back slipping past the waistband of his jeans. Normally he would probably ask to slow down right about now. He likes to take his time more often than not, enjoys the little things and intricate steps of their intimacy. But he’s had a week to think of nothing but this moment, to imagine all the ways they’ll fall apart upon being reunited, and he’s achingly desperate for it, too. Besides that, he’s keenly aware of how much Duen needs this, of how necessary his pliancy is especially in the wake of what he’s already said. “There’s lube in my bag,” he murmurs against the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth, because his own eagerness for this is a statement, a claim in and of itself.

Duen doesn’t release him as he sidesteps to where he left their bags to get it. Bohn lets himself relax against him, encircled by an arm that holds them tight together, and nuzzles into the space between his neck and shoulder. “Missed you,” he confesses as he presses closer, melts into the embrace as he’s guided across the room in stumbles and starts. 

“Yeah?” Duen asks, and Bohn hates the way his voice wavers. 

“You’re it for me,” he says softly, winding his arms around Duen’s neck as a hand is worked between them, the button of his jeans popped open. It’s not the first time he’s said it, either out loud or to himself. He’s known pretty much since the second they met. This is it, there will never be anyone else. But he’ll say it again as often as he needs to, as many times as it takes to chase away Duen’s sharp, painful moments of uncertainty. “Plus,” he adds, his voice straining on a laugh even as his pants are pushed down past his thighs, “you’ve collared me now. I’m wearing your name around my neck.” His t-shirt is still on, but Duen presses a thumb into the crescent moon hanging above his sternum so hard he can still feel it leaving an outline on his skin even through the fabric. Bohn hisses in a shaky breath, tightens his hold, and lets himself be pushed back until he bumps against something. He casts a glance behind him, takes in the sturdy teaching desk, and groans at the shiver of anticipation that works its way through him. 

Silence hangs in the air for a moment, and Bohn takes the opportunity to curl his fingers into the hair at the base of Duen’s neck, bury his face against his shoulder and simply inhale. Duen is still breathing a bit too hard, and the rhythm of his heart that Bohn can feel where they’re pressed together is too fast for how little they’ve done. God, he’s desperate, strung out, and once again Bohn finds himself wondering who exactly the collar was meant to comfort more. “You’re it for me,” he reiterates, fiercer, louder, and relief sinks into him as Duen sucks in a steadier, deeper breath in the wake of it. “Okay? You’re it. _I love you_. Look at me.” He pulls back, places a kiss to the corner of Duen’s eyelid, the line of his jaw, his cheek, before sealing it off with a proper press of their lips together. Bohn’s heart swells as he watches his eyes flutter open when he breaks it, smiles when their gazes finally meet. “There you go, baby.” Duen leans in to where he still has one hand on the side of his face, watches him with a look that’s becoming startlingly more assured with every passing second. “How do you want me?” Bohn breathes.

It’s the perfect thing to say. The words sing with that exact right amount of private, confident submissiveness that he will never give to anyone else, and Bohn’s nerves spark with quiet delight as Duen’s eyes take on that soft intensity that’s just for him in return. He blinks once, and then a grin spreads over his face. _There you are_ , Bohn thinks dizzily, _there’s my boy_. “Someone might hear,” Duen warns, as if Bohn isn’t recklessly aware of that. 

“I think you want them to,” he replies knowingly as he toes out of his shoes, lets his pants slip further down. Duen’s hands skim down his back to his thighs, pull him closer, and Bohn only needs that gentle encouragement to loop his arms around his shoulders before he’s being tipped back onto the surface of the desk. They know each other well enough for this to come easily, to read the unspoken words in every touch and kiss. Duen divests him of his pants and boxers without instruction, braces a hand to the desk as he uses the other one to pull Bohn’s thighs apart, fit himself in between them. 

“Is this okay?”

He’s going to be sore as hell after this, Bohn realizes, relishing in the very idea as a hasty, “Yes,” falls from his lips. Duen wastes no time hooking one of his legs over his shoulder, and he shivers and closes his eyes as he hears the cap of the lube being popped open. It’s been a week, so the first press of a finger inside him is more discomforting than he’d like. Still, he grinds back down against it, insistent, desperate, already aching for more. 

“How much have you been thinking about this?” Duen asks as he works him open, the words spoken in between kisses placed to the inside of Bohn’s thigh where it’s propped up against his chest.

“Wha- _ah_ \- what? This week? Every day,” Bohn gasps out.

“I mean in general,” Duen says slyly, and Bohn cracks open an eye to study the smirk on his face. “You’ve had this lube in your bag for awhile, haven’t you.” He’s two fingers in now, and he punctuates his too-knowing inquiry with an artful beckoning of them that makes Bohn’s back arch.

“ _Fuck_! Yeah, okay, I might have been,” he admits. He’s not ashamed of it, far from it actually. If anything he’s disgustingly proud that his wishful and voyeuristic thinking has finally come in handy. “ _Hah,_ you’ve clearly c- _ah_ \- considered it too though,” Bohn goads. “You want people to know, right? You wouldn’t get me a fucking collar if you didn’t.” He stuffs a fist in his mouth as Duen crooks his fingers again, choking on a moan. His hand is pulled away before the sound has even finished leaving him though, and his chest heaves as he stares up at dark, insistent eyes.

“You’re right,” Duen confesses over the panting whimper that escapes Bohn as he inserts a third finger, twists them just right. “And I know how loud you are.”

 _Oh. Oh_ **_fuck_** _._

Bohn can’t take it anymore, he really can’t. He’s desperate just from those words alone, aching for it so much he can’t help but squirm, grind down against Duen’s hand and bite back on a high, needy sound. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, “fuck, please. I’m ready, I’m ready. Please. Please, baby, come on. I need you, I-”

He groans as Duen grabs his thigh that isn’t already braced on his chest, pushes it aside, and he scrabbles at the too-smooth surface of the desk for something to hold on to as the head of a cock is pressed up against the core of him. “Wait, wait, not like this,” he pants. Thankfully Duen gets it immediately, lets the leg draped over his shoulder fall around his waist instead. He leans down, allows Bohn drag in him for a kiss and find purchase on his shoulders before he tries again.

It’s a little too quick, a little too hasty, but Bohn really doesn’t care. Duen is always careful with him, listens to every hitch of his breath, every noise he makes as he sinks in. Bohn buries his face against his shoulder and chokes on a sound that’s nearly a sob. God, he needed this. Even when it’s too fast, too much and too soon, it’s perfect. “Wait,” he says once he has the breath to. “Don’t move yet. Wait.” Duen’s hand is wandering up between them as he sucks in slow, even inhales, is pulling at the ring in the hollow of his throat and tracing down over the moon pendant below it. He focuses on that as his body adjusts, as that tightness lessens and his heart rate slows. This is the best part. He nuzzles into the side of Duen’s neck, drinks in the pleased, reassuring noise he makes, and whines as his hips are dragged in closer. “Impatient,” he scolds.

“Hmm,” Duen agrees. “How can I not be when it’s you?”

 _Holy shit_. “Fuck me,” Bohn demands hoarsely. 

There’s something grounding about the way Duen always takes his time, especially when it’s obvious how much they both need it. Even when they’re desperate he goes slow, spends long moments kissing him in gentle measures timed with the roll of his hips so he can taste every staggered gasp and moan Bohn gifts him. He mouths along the side of his jaw, down the line of his neck when Bohn arches his back and rocks onto him with a swear as he chases those deep sparks of pleasure. His teeth draw over his collarbone, and Bohn has half a second to realize that Duen is following the length of the chain before he opens his eyes to watch him take the ring in his mouth and tug.

“ _O-oh my god_ ,” he gasps. “Wha- _ah_!” The next time Duen cants himself in it’s harder, and Bohn moans as he circles his hips, grinds into that spot until he’s struggling for breath, his cock twitching against his stomach where it’s trapped between their bodies. " _Fuck_ , I-” His nails are digging into Duen’s back, and even though he’s still clad in his uniform shirt Bohn’s pretty sure he’s leaving little crescent marks in his shoulder blades regardless. The metal of the moon charm is heated when it drags over his skin as it’s pulled on, and a strangled, wild noise rises in him as Duen glances up at him through half-lidded eyes, the ring still held between his teeth. Well, he’d wanted him to be loud, right? “Fuck,” Bohn hisses, grabbing Duen’s face between his hands and drawing him up his body for a searing kiss, the ring bumping against his chin as it falls back to its proper place over his throat. “ _Baby_ , look what you’ve done to me.”

And he does. Bohn knows he’s looking even after he closes his eyes. He gives him ample room to, lets him lean back and pull his hips up higher, thrust in deeper. His hands curl into the fabric around Duen’s biceps, twist it between his fingers just for something to hold on to. He knows what he must look like, what Duen sees when he’s like this. Bohn’s a wreck, flushed and shaking, his chest heaving with every breath where he’s spread out, spread open, and pleading for more with every broken shout and shiver. It’s a sight for one pair of eyes alone, but the privilege is all Bohn’s. He loves this more than he can stand, aches to be taken until he falls apart. It’s the closest thing to truly being owned for him, the best way to give himself over with every fibre of his being until he’s satiated, secure. Gravity can only hold him in its grasp so long as he has these close and carnal moments as his anchor. 

The edge of the desk is digging into his back but he doesn’t care. He’s distracted by the feeling of Duen moving in him, the way his breaths are turning harsher in time with his thrusts. Bohn pulls him back down, kisses his way into his mouth until he can taste those pretty panting exhales for himself. “So good to me,” he praises, throwing an arm over Duen’s shoulders to bring him closer, leave a rare and petaled mark just beneath the collar of his shirt with his mouth. He traces idle shapes over his spine, urges him on with murmured encouragements and tight, trembling squeezes of his thighs around his waist. “M’close,” he whispers, the words catching around a whimper. “Come on, baby. Make me come. I want- _ah, fuck_ , I want the entire faculty to hear how you’ve made me yours.”

It doesn’t take much, just a few more fervent thrusts that hit the mark, another curl of fingers into the ring of the collar like a careful, insistent reminder of belonging, and Bohn cries out and spills between them so hard it makes his head spin. “Fuck,” he gasps, clenching down through one aftershock, another, his cock still dripping over his stomach and staining the hem of his shirt. “ _Fuck, Duen_.”

“ _Bohn,_ ” Duen groans against his neck, and as always it’s the prettiest sound, the best reward, and Bohn pulls him closer as he feels him stutter, stall, his breath hitching over his skin when he lets go. 

There’s going to be a bruise on his waist tomorrow from the lip of the desk, Bohn thinks, and the back of his neck feels rubbed a bit raw where the chain rests against it. But they’re just more proof, more testaments of his place in the world, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest. “Look what you’ve done to me,” he murmurs again as he takes Duen’s face between his hands, kisses him in butterfly pecks until he puffs out a laugh and smiles as they come down from it all in steadier and steadier breaths. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” he says, and were it spoken by someone other than him it might be a reprimand, but from Bohn it’s a promise. This is it, he’s been past the point of no return for awhile now. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Duen whispers against the shell of his ear, even, assured, a thumb pressing the crescent moon into his skin where it rests over Bohn’s sternum.

And he is claimed. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't have any end notes other than the usual stfu if you're even remotely considering leaving me a "I like this but I don't like them in the show" remark. I will absolutely screenshot that shit and throw it into my groupchat to be mocked. Don't do it, I love them to death and I don't want to hear about how you don't. 
> 
> Good comments and screaming very much welcome though lmao. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Edit: please DM me on Twitter (@cat_macbeth) with BohnDuen prompts so we can get thru this week together lmao ;___;


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